The First Look
by SomeoneNew86
Summary: Thoughts Eowyn has while resting in the House of Healing, the first time she sees Faramir.


Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings

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Eowyn rose from her bed, her room was accommodating but so different from her own quarters. She would have felt far more at home in Rohan wrapped in furs and

lulled to sleep by the warmth of a crackling fire and the rich scent of timber. She was spent beyond words but lying half-awake after scattered hours of fitful sleep

fatigued her more. Thoughts of Theoden and Aragorn assailed her mercilessly in the solitude of her room. Had she the strength, and permission of the healers, she

would dedicate herself to tending others. The work would help keep her forlorn thoughts at bay and give her escape from the lethargy she felt trapped in. She was

ashamed to dwell too long on her heartache when such great peril lay ahead for all Middle Earth. Her own people and the people of Gondor were on the threshold of

utter destruction. In the stillness of the House of Healing she had contemplated into many nights the sacrifice of her people. Yet her mind wandered most to the father

figure she had lost, and the man who had spurned her affections on the eve of battle. The grief of losing Theoden was too near and painful but for one thing; killing the

Witch King of Angmar had brought her to his side in death. In the vast battlefield of fighting and dead she could not have hoped for such a last gift. She remembered

looking into his eyes and seeing the fading light of a warrior settling to rest. Saving Theoden from being torn apart by a foul, Nazgul beast eased the burning of her

wounds. He had said his body was broken, but rarely had Eowyn witnessed Theoden's spirit as strong as it was in those last moments. She smiled sadly to herself,

"_There will be no fear of a poor reception in the halls of his fathers; at last he is again whole."_

She remembered the moments that had drawn her to Aragorn. Despite the weariness that was etched on his face there was vigor in his form. The blood of the

Dunedain flowed through his veins and despite his vagabond raiment he bore himself as a King of Old. She recalled the regret of him turning her away. To be put aside,

even gently, by such a noble man left her despondent. The House of Healing was tending away her physical wounds but could not empty her heart of the pain she felt.

She walked slowly to the window; the footsteps weakened her physically but invigorated her nonetheless. A true shield maiden of Rohan would walk even when her

body's strength would have her refuse.

She looked down at her pale hands remembering how she had wielded a sword in battle, now they were empty. Looking out over Gondor her mind recalled the worst

of the battle, the screams of struck soldiers, hacking and sneering orcs, and the stench of blood that permeated the air. It was dishonorable to remember only the

blackness of death though; she whispered a word of memory and gratitude to the fallen. For the first time she had witnessed the valor of her people in action. In all

times past she had only heard of it in song or retold in story. She recalled the sunlight reflecting off the drawn swords of Rohirrim soldiers, the emerald green and

brazen gold of shields, the roar of warriors' cries and the fire that blazed in the eyes of every man and his steed. Her thoughts began to overwhelm her again as they

threatened to return to the blackness of death. She turned her head to feel the breeze from her open window and met the gaze of a wounded soldier. His arm was

bandaged, cradled closely to his side and for a moment tenderness filled her at the sight of this weary man. Swiftly recognition took over, she beheld Faramir son of

Denethor. She had pitied him from the stories she had heard; he had been considered by Denethor the weaker of two brothers and been an object of scorn to him. It

had been said that he had led what amounted to a suicide mission to reclaim Osgiliath in hopes of earning his father's favor. Some whispered that he took such a

course of action because he had given up on life. Looking at him now she could not believe that he did it to end his life. His decision was reckless but his heart had not

been weak. Even wounded he appeared ready to answer the call of service to Gondor. His countenance was kind, if not melancholy. He had suffered much and like a

reed in the cruel winds of a storm had done his best not to break and fall. The might of his line had not dwindled in him; rather he carried the torch for it, even if in a

rainstorm.

Faramir smiled softly at the Lady of Rohan. Eowyn stood still for a moment; her blue eyes cold with grief. He wished to reach out to her, to reassure her in some small

way. His own heart ached in his chest but the thought of seeing this fair maiden smile could comfort him. Despite her beauty she appeared to be in a shadow of

loneliness and he longed to let her know all would be well in due time. He admired her countenance; her pale skin was as fair as moonlight and her golden hair shone

like stray shafts of sun light breaking through grey clouds. Her lips were set and in her expression he could see she was a lady of determination. Seeing her made him

forget all of his own sorrows momentarily; he wondered why a woman of such light should appear so caged in darkness. He clenched his trembling hand. He was still

regaining his own strength, and soon he would reach out his hand to her, words failed in times like these and he prayed the gesture would bring her ease for these

uncertain days.


End file.
